


Forever, Almost Never

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azulon makes baffling decisions, Divorce, F/M, Gen, Miscarriage, Urzai Week, referenced miscarriage, the timeline is whatever i want it to be bc i'm bad at math and i say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: Ozai returns from many months at sea expecting his engagement to Ursa to be finalized; Azulon, however, has other plans.
Relationships: Azulon & Ozai (Avatar), Iroh & Ozai (Avatar), Ozai/Ursa (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Forever, Almost Never

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catie_writes_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/gifts).



> The miscarriage is background but referenced several times and treated very callously
> 
> I'm only two weeks late this year! Happy birthday Catie, have some dysfunction!

Ozai was at the bow of the ship as it sailed into the harbor at the Capital City. He’d been away from home for 18 months, and the strong midsummer sun warmed him to his core. 

His hunt for the Avatar had not begun according to his plans--he’d expected Azulon to go along, as he had with Iroh many years ago, but his father had passed off the experience to Iroh himself, too old, he claimed, too uninterested, Ozai thought--and had not ended according to his plans--Iroh had left not six months into their trip to return to his ailing, pregnant wife, leaving Ozai alone to scour the seas for the Avatar. 

Ozai, like his brother and father and grandfather before him, was unsuccessful in his hunt. There was not even the faintest sign of the Avatar. Ozai, privately, wondered if the Avatar even still lived or was only legend, passed down to them in distorted narrative, but Azulon thought it important the man be found, and Ozai trusted his father. 

His return home was marked by failure, but there would be one person waiting for him who wouldn’t care. She would listen to his adventures and sympathize with his failures. She might even lay her hand on his arm, the way she had a habit of so casually doing, that sent shivers down his spine and made him feel intimately Known. 

When he had told her all that had transpired, they could talk, then, of their impending wedding. Their fathers had been discussing an arrangement for years, but had agreed that they would wait for the adolescents to come of age--Ozai’s return from his expected hunt had been a suitable point. 

He leaned against the edge of the ship, the water lapping below, wondering if she sat by her favored fountain in the gardens, water lapping near her as well, and willed his ship to return him to her quickly. 

***************

“I have been thinking,” the Fire Lord said over private afternoon tea with his sons. It was the first time Azulon had made for Ozai other than a brief greeting upon his return. Iroh had tried to make a fuss, but Ozai had breezed past him at the docks and walked on angrily to the palace. Iroh trailed behind, waving and greeting the people who had come to see the return of the prince.

Now, Iroh looked on at his father mildly, but Ozai tightened his grip on his cup, staring down at the dark tea, a sudden sense of foreboding growing within him--he very much did not want to hear what his father was going to say next.

“Yes, Father?” Iroh prompted, when Azulon didn’t say anything. This got Ozai to look up as well, and it seemed to be what their father was waiting for. 

“I am not sure it is wise, after all, to have Lady Ursa marry Prince Ozai,” Azulon announced, 

Breath rushed out of Ozai with such force he felt he’d been punched, but his father, still speaking, didn't hear. 

He’d turned to Iroh and was finishing, “She should marry you, instead, Prince Iroh.”

“No,” Ozai repeated, horrified. Could he lose even _Ursa_ to Iroh? His father spared him a glance, as if he were an annoying mosquitofly, then looked back to Iroh, who sipped his tea, calmly, even as his face darkened. 

“I am married,” Iroh pointed out. 

Azulon scoffed. “Divorce her,” he said. “You have only the one child by her, and he is so sickly. It is time you think of future heirs. Especially after the last disappointment.”

“She is a good wife,” Iroh insisted, face stormy. “Am I to abandon her after bearing my own son? It has only been a few months since her last loss.”

Azulon’s own face softened. “My son,” he said, reaching over and patting his eldest’s hand. He did not seem to notice Ozai’s own distress at the announcement. “I understand you are fond of her, but we must consider not just yourself but the future of a nation. She will not be abandoned. We will provide for her.”

Iroh shook his head, stood up, and swept out of the room without another word, quietly furious. Azulon watched him, his face inscrutable. He seemed to have forgotten his other son until, Ozai ventured, tentatively, “Father?”

Azulon looked to him, scowling. “What?” he said impatiently.

“Don’t do this,” Ozai said, bowing his head in submission. “Please.”

Azulon shook his head in disgust. “You’re young, Prince Ozai,” he said, standing himself. “We’ll find you another girl.”

_Not like her_ , Ozai thought, head still bowed, as the Fire Lord also left the room, leaving his own half-drunk cup behind.

***************

The sun shone brightly the next day, but Ozai felt gray inside, as he walked along the garden pathway with Lady Ursa once more, perhaps, he thought, for the last time. 

“What’s wrong, Prince Ozai?” she asked, frowning at him. She’d been cheerfully recounting what he’d missed in his absence, the gossip her letters hadn’t carried to him, but he’d been distracted. 

He should not have gone to the gardens to meet Ursa in the morning --not after the news his father had given--but it had been their custom before he’d left, when their engagement was all but assured, and he could not stand the thought of not seeing her like that again, when thoughts of their future would be together and not as his brother’s wife. 

He shook his head, distracted, and tried to smile at her. Her wide golden eyes stared up at him, disarming. It wasn’t fair, that she could be so beautiful, and not his. 

“I--it’s nothing,” he said, automatically. 

She frowned. “I thought you’d be happy to be home,” she said.

“So did I,” he muttered.

“Something must have happened,” she insisted. She stopped, and he took a few steps ahead, before realizing she was not with him. He turned to face her, and she reached up a tentative hand to touch his face. 

She was so gentle, so good. Ozai could not imagine marrying anyone but her.

“My father,” he started, stopped, then admitted fully what had transpired the day before.

Her hand fell from his cheek as he spoke, and he missed its warmth. “Iroh’s poor wife,” Ursa said softly, in her compassionate way, when Ozai had finished. She shook her head, then added firmly, “He can’t do that. He promised my father that I would marry you, that we would make the engagement official when you returned. You’re back now!” 

“It’s not official yet,” Ozai said glumly. “That’s the problem. He changed his mind.”

“He can change it all he like!” Ursa said, indignantly, “But I don’t.” Her face creased into an angry frown, she added, “I would never marry the Crown Prince, and I wouldn’t deign to be any man’s _second_ wife while his first still lived. Does the Fire Lord know how he has insulted me and my father?”

Her anger surprised Ozai; he had always known she was not fond of his brother, had even felt a kindred spirit in her in this, but he hadn’t realized the depths. “Perhaps,” he said. “I’m not sure he cares. He thinks only of Iroh’s future and Iroh’s heirs.” Then, challenging, “I thought any woman would like a chance to become Fire Lady.” 

“If he is so concerned, perhaps he can find one of Iroh’s bastards to be heir,” Ursa said haughtily, and Ozai flushed. 

“Ursa,” he hissed, glancing around. They were of course alone--his attendant and her chaperone such a distance away they could not hear her reckless words. 

“Don’t Ursa me!” she snapped, sounding close to tears. He longed to draw her into his arms, but it wouldn’t be proper, especially now, with his father’s decision looming. “And I wouldn’t be the proper Fire Lady anyway, whatever your father pays the Sages to say. What are _you_ going to do about this, Ozai?” 

“Do?” Ozai asked, blankly. “What can I do? If the Fire Lord decrees--”

“He has not yet!” she interrupted, stamping her foot. “Are you too much of a coward to stand up to him? To fight for us? It’s _you_ I love, it’s _you_ I agreed to marry, not your brother!” 

She turned away from him, as angry as Ozai was bewildered. 

“Ursa!” he repeated, reaching for her hand even as she slipped past his grasp. “He’s the Fire Lord, Agni’s anointed! I can’t just--”

“You won’t even try!” she said coldly, any trace of her tears now gone as she took several steps away from him. She did not turn again, saying, “I wish to be alone. Good day, Prince Ozai.” 

Ozai, miserable, watched her go.

***************

“You _must_ talk with Father.” It was only a few hours later that Ozai barged into Iroh’s rooms, unannounced, making demands as no one but the Crown Prince’s indulged younger brother could. 

“Must I?” Iroh asked, amused. “About what?” 

“You _know_ what,” Ozai snarled, standing much too close and looming over his brother. It had been a long while since Ozai had grown so tall and gangly--Iroh was never quite used to the baby being such a height. “About Ursa!”

“Lady Ursa has nothing to fear from me, Ozai, be assured,” Iroh said darkly. Then he sighed, and sat in his chair. “I have no wish to divorce my wife.”

“If Father decrees--,” Ozai started. 

Iroh glanced up,then shook his head. “We might argue about it a long while,” he said, “but Father would not force me into a marriage.”

It was unspoken that they both knew Azulon would force Ozai into one. Or out of one, as he saw fit. 

Ozai flung himself onto Iroh’s bed, as melodramatic as ever. The thought of Lady Ursa lying there, one day, sharing it with Iroh, filled him with meanness. “She doesn’t even like you,” he snarled, which made Iroh flush. 

“I did not know,” he said, honestly, “that the Lady held such disdain.” It was hard to tell if Ozai was being entirely honest or if such a sentiment came from jealousy. Iroh himself had always been fond of the young girl he’d presumed would one day be his sister-in-law. 

Ozai himself was thinking of the first time he’d realized Lady Ursa found Iroh as annoying as he did. It’d been at a ball several years ago--Iroh had been flattering her, mostly to embarrass Ozai, who’d stood fuming behind her, and, while never impolite, her face was haughty and unimpressed. If he actually understood the sentiment, he might have realized, then, that he was in love with her. 

“She thinks you’re a flirt,” Ozai told him bluntly. The words sounded so unnatural-- modern and awkward--coming out of Ozai’s mouth, clearly quoted from the girl herself, that Iroh laughed. 

“Does she?” he said. Then, serious again, “You are insistent you marry her,” he started.

Ozai sat up and nodded. “I am,” he interrupted. 

“Is there a reason?” Iroh said.

“I love her,” Ozai admitted, sounding as lovesick and torn apart about it as any man in the epics and myths Iroh had tried to tell him when he was still young. Even then, Ozai had been far more interested in hearing about battles and Firebending forms. 

Iroh raised an eyebrow, waiting. Ozai did not seem to understand, and met the questioning look with a challenging gaze of his own. “I do! I love her!”

“What I mean,” Iroh said, exasperated, “is that there is no... _impending_ reason you might want to rush an engagement.”

He gave Ozai a pointed look, and after several moments, watched Ozai’s dawning realization of what he was getting at. When he understood, Ozai blushed furiously, then flew into a rage that Iroh had not anticipated.

“I would _never!_ ” Ozai shouted, standing up so suddenly from the bed Iroh wondered at his blood flow. “I --- I _wouldn’t_ not to _her_ , of all people, you ought to know!” 

Iroh did know--it had been he, after all, who’d teased Ozai the past several years about women in general and Ursa in particular. The boy had never even thought to lie with a maid or guard, the way Iroh himself had, even younger than Ozai now. He had tried to encourage it himself, a year and a half previously, not long after Ozai’s 18th birthday and before Ozai left on his journey--his brother had all but fled the fluttering eyelashes and low cut dress of the girl Iroh had brought along for him. In some ways, his brother was still very much the child Iroh had known. 

“And she!” there were sparks coming from Ozai’s nostrils now, and his utterances were barely complete thoughts. “She--how _dare_ you--about _her_ \--you--she--I!” he was so flustered, Iroh waved his hands, gesturing for him to calm down. 

“Prince Ozai,” he said in a soothing voice, placing his hands on Ozai’s shoulders. “I mean no harm. I only wanted to know.”

“You will _never_ suggest such a thing about Lady Ursa again,” Ozai snarled, and Iroh nodded. “Forgive me,” he said, though he couldn’t keep the trace of amusement and indulgence out of his voice. 

Ozai huffed for several moments longer, but then nodded in acquiescence. Iroh patted his shoulder, murmuring, “Good man,” and stepped back. Ozai was still distraught, but he did not seem in danger of throwing fireballs at Iroh anymore. 

Iroh sat at his desk chair, and after a moment, Ozai sat back on Iroh’s bed--primly this time, proper, at the edge. Still, there was a _slump_ about him. 

“I will talk to Father, Ozai,” Iroh said, hating to see his brother look so forlorn. “He will see reason.”

“He doesn’t care that I love her,” Ozai said, softly. “He doesn’t care that we are a good match.”

_Does he care at all what I do?_

It had been the same thought that had haunted Ozai when Azulon had passed on going with him to sea. He’d gone with Iroh, but, as Iroh had attempted to reassure Ozai, he’d been a younger man then. Even then, Ozai had refused to admit Azulon’s absence bothered him. He had merely flung himself into his hunt with such gusto he’d left Iroh worried for his health and safety.

And then Iroh had been called away from matters more important.

“He will let you marry her,” Iroh insisted. “And you will be very happy.”

“I don’t understand what changed his mind,” Ozai snapped, frustrated. He was working himself towards another outburst, Iroh could see--already mad at himself for letting Iroh see him vulnerable. “For years, she was the only one he even considered suitable.”

Iroh thought of his own wife, who had not left her bed since she’d lost her child. Ozai was not the only damage--he was not the only one who suffered. 

“I will not divorce my wife,” he reassured.

“You will,” Ozai said, dully, “if the Fire Lord commands it.”

He would command Ozai, Iroh thought, but Azulon rarely commanded him. 

***************

Ozai took his tea on the Northern Tower balcony, as was his custom. It was his favorite place in the afternoon as the sun shone nearly directly overhead and was not impeded by any other towers or trees--there was little shade, and Ozai sprawled out in the sun like a cat, soaking in its warmth. 

He was startled, then, when one of his attendants announced Lady Ursa. He flushed, as he scrambled to his feet to offer her a proper bow. She returned it with a curtsey, as was her custom, though now old-fashioned in Court-- the modern women bowed, same as the men, these days. 

“I didn’t know you would be joining me,” he said, waiting as she seated herself to follow suit.

“Haven’t I always, while we’re both here?” she said back. 

He nodded. It was true--when they were both at Court at the same time, they usually had tea together, his attendants and her chaperone hovering around. 

“I had thought--,” he said, uncomfortably, “after this morning…”

He trailed off, and she looked at him expectantly. “Well,” he cleared his throat and finished, “that you were...mad at me.”

“I am,” she said. 

Ozai watched her carefully; she buttered her bread with a ferocity that contrasted her cool tone. 

“I can see,” he said. She scowled down at the bread, looking as though she wanted to say something. He wanted to reach out and take the knife from her, to hold her hand instead, but it didn’t seem proper anymore, considering. 

Finally, she said, sounding strained, “Will you really do nothing?”

“I talked to Iroh,” Ozai admitted. “He does not want a divorce.”

“Oh good,” she said, voice so venomous that Ozai drew back. “I’m so glad we are assured of Prince Iroh’s aversion as well.”

“Ursa,” Ozai said unhappily. “I don’t want to fight about this again.” If it was the only time they had left...

“You don’t even trust your brother,” she continued, ignoring him. Then, ferocious, “I will _not_ marry Iroh, even if I have to do the fighting myself.” --”What a man,” here she turned condescending, “to leave his beloved to do his fighting.” 

“How dare you!” he snapped, flushing. 

“How dare I?” she shouted, leaping to her feet, and throwing the piece of bread still in her hand at him. He dodged it easily. “How dare _I_? I am the only one who will dare!” She picked up her teacup and flung it next. This was more true to target and drenched his robes with hot water. 

“Get ahold of yourself, Madam!” he shouted back, standing up himself. 

“Now you are provoked!” she said, her lovely face twisted. He’d never seen her so emotional, so enraged. “Does it take a woman shaming you to get you to act?”

“You would talk to your husband that way?” Ozai snapped. “To a Prince of the Fire Nation?”

She smiled meanly at him. “If the Prince is not to be my husband,” she said, “then I will speak to him how I like.”

Before he could speak, she stood angrily and left. 

Once more, he watched her go, fists clenched in his own anger. She was infuriating--and still, he felt a small sense of relief, one he refused to acknowledge, that she refused so vehemently to marry his brother--the thought of her with him was unbearable. 

***************

“My Lord,” said the Governor, “the agreement was between my daughter and your younger son.”

“It was not official,” Azulon said, behind his flames. They did not intimidate the man as much as Azulon thought they ought.

“No,” the Governor agreed. “But understood.” A pause, then, “My Lord, she will not have the Crown Prince.”

The Fire Lord snorted. “She won’t?” he said. “Is it her decision or is it yours?”

The Governor drew himself up, insulted. “I pursue only her best interests.”

“As I pursue the best interests of my nation,” Azulon said. He stood up, with a long-suffering sigh, and walked through the flames to meet the Governor face-to-face. “Come,” he said, waving a hand as his attendants and guards fell into place around him. “I expect we will be talking a while.” 

He led the man to his war room, where tables were set up, and sat, gesturing to a servant to bring him tea. 

“So,” he said, settling back into his chair. “You accuse me of reneging on my promises?” 

“Perhaps not in so many words, My Lord,” the Governor said, haughtily, as the servant returned with tea and cups. The servant poured, and the Governor continued, carefully, though righteously. He was, Azulon remembered, one of the more traditional dukes, though much younger than Azulon himself. He wondered at that--that tradition be passed down long past the time its service to the Fire Nation had expired. 

“What are your concerns about the match?” Azulon asked. “Surely any father would be happy to see his only daughter as the Fire Lady.”

“As I understand it, she and Prince Ozai are quite in love,” the Governor said. “If we are to hope for a happy marriage, I cannot see denying them this.” 

Azulon laughed. “They’re barely more than children,” he said, deeply amused. “They will move on.” Then, flippantly, “The marriage would do little to keep them apart anyway. 

The Governor flushed a dark, angry red. “That is my _daughter,_ Sir, I would thank you not to imply such loose behavior.” 

Azulon nodded his head in condescending assent. It wouldn't due for Ozai to compromise the legitimacy of an heir, anyway. Perhaps he would send the boy away again, keep them apart, until the two grew up from these feelings. 

After several moments where Azulon sat and sipped and the Governor stewed, the Governor spoke again, “If she cannot produce Prince Iroh an heir, what is to keep her from also being cast off?” 

Azulon waved a hand. “She will always be well taken care of.”

“That’s hardly an assurance!” The Governor countered, then sighed, deflating back into his chair. “She insists she marry Prince Ozai or she will run off to a remote convent never to be seen again,” he admitted. 

Azulon laughed again. Such dramatics! And what a father, to have so little control over his own child. The governor must indulge the girl, that she made such a protest, Azulon thought. His own daughters, had they grown to marrying age, would have done as they were told.

He shook his head quickly from these thoughts, never one to stay on them long, wearied from this meeting already. 

“I will think it over,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Leave me now.” 

The governor stood and bowed his way out of the room, leaving Azulon with a teacup and his own thoughts. He hadn’t anticipated this idea being more trouble than it was worth. 

Standing himself, after several minutes, he left the room to retreat to his quarters. 

There, Iroh was waiting for him. 

  
  


***************

Ozai approached his father’s rooms cautiously, pausing for a long while outside the door, his hand raised as if to knock. 

“Shall I announce you, sir?” one of his father’s senior attendants asked, and Ozai shook his head, needing a moment. His courage was failing him, but for Ursa--

He drew in a deep breath, resolved. He could do this for her. 

He nodded at the attendant who admitted him, then waved them away to knock on his father’s chamber door himself.

Iroh and Azulon were laughing together over tea when Ozai entered, bowing to the Fire Lord. 

“Oh Ozai,” Azulon said, his laugh fading. He scowled at his younger son. “Good, I want to talk to you.” 

“Father, I must speak,” Ozai interrupted, dropping to his knees in front of Azulon.

“Get up, Ozai,” Azulon said impatiently. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

“But--,” Ozai started. 

“Little Dragon,” Iroh cut him off, gently, “Father has news you might like to hear.”

Ozai flushed, furious at Iroh for using his patronizing nickname in front of the Fire Lord himself, but got to his feet, nodding his head in deference to his father. He had not been told to sit, so he stood as Azulon surveyed him, 

After a moment, he snorted and shook his head at whatever he saw in his younger son. “You’ll have the girl, after all,” he told him. “Her father and I have spoken.”

He stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of his robes. Then, when Ozai said nothing, added irritably, “I thought you’d be happy.”

Ozai didn’t hear him--he’d caught his breath at his father’s pronouncement and only now let it out slowly. “I--am?”

“That’s what I just said,” Azulon answered impatiently. 

“Father,” Iroh intervened, smoothly, “I think he needs a moment. I expect he is tremendously pleased.”

Azulon harrumphed as Ozai blinked dumbly, processing. Father had changed his mind. Ursa wouldn’t marry Iroh...she would be _his_ wife after all. 

Iroh nudged him, startling Ozai out of his thoughts. He bowed again to his Father, murmuring his gratitude. Azulon rolled his eyes and waved the boy away, before sweeping out of the rooms ahead of them, muttering grumpily about foolish girls and what _did_ she see. 

Ozai, still bowed in his father’s wake, straightened and glanced at Iroh, who smiled encouragingly. “Go on,” he said. “Go find her.”

Ozai found he could bear even his brother’s condescension, and he nodded. Yes, he would have to find Lady Ursa at once--he thought she would be in the gardens, near the fountain she so liked. Her favorite spot at the palace, she’d told him once, years ago. 

He left in a haste, without saying anything to Iroh, who left behind him, far more somber, on his way to see his own wife. Ozai’s walked, strides long and quick, still thinking. 

Would she still have him? After their arguments… would she want him? Ozai quickened his pace until he was nearly jogging, undignified, through the palace grounds, his attendants falling farther behind.

He came upon her in the gardens and shouted her name. She turned, startled, as he ran to close the distance between them. Partway there, he remembered himself, and slowed to a walk, drawing in deep breaths to tame his panting. 

“I have been looking for you, Lady Ursa,” He said, bowing to her. 

She curtsied back, but she did not smile at him as she usually did. “Were you?” she asked cooly, rising. 

Ozai hadn’t planned this far ahead and felt flustered. It made him abrupt. “Yes. Walk with me.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking, Prince Ozai, or telling?”

“Ursa,” he pleaded, and she relented. 

They walked in silence for a bit, before he turned to face her and grasped her hands. He hadn’t noticed, when he stopped, that they were near the fountain she so liked; it spouted its water merrily, and the turtleducks splashed and swam. 

“Prince Ozai!” she objected, but he didn’t release her. 

“Lady Ursa,” he began formally. He had her attention. “You know my status here at court, you know my prowess as a Firebender.” Her brow arched, amused, and he flushed but continued, “My position would afford you every comfort, and, Agni willing, we would have many strong and healthy children to be a credit to you and our Nation.”

“Prince Ozai,” she asked, voice betraying her deep amusement as much as her arched brow, “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Of course I am,” he said, a little snappishly. A beat, then, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well will you?”

“Will I _what_ ?”   
  


“Marry me!” Ozai said impatiently. “What I’ve been asking!”

“You only just asked,” she scolded, but then smiled, and said, “Yes, I’ll marry you.” A pause, a slight wrinkle in her brow. “Your father…?”

“It’s taken care of her,” he assured her. His turn to pause, feeling dumbstruck again. “You will?”

“Marry you?” she said, that eyebrow arching again. “Of course.”

He smiled back at her, one of his rare ones that only she ever elicited. She leaned forward conspiratorially and confided, “I’d feel very foolish if you hadn’t asked; I made some embarrassingly dramatic threats.”

“Did you?” Ozai asked, startled, as he turned to walk back to the palace. He hadn’t tarried in finding her and so had not heard how Azulon had come to make his decision--he had presumed Iroh had refused the divorce and Azulon had settled. 

“Yes,” she said, haughtily. He offered her his arm, and she looped hers through it. “Well,” she added, a little defensively, when he eyed her with his own raised eyebrow, “ _Someone_ had to do something.”

“Yes,” Ozai agreed, absently, embarrassed in turn that it was not _he_ who had salvaged their engagement. 

She squeezed his arm, as if sensing his distress, and smiled so prettily he wondered that she’d ever been so furious with him earlier. Neither gave an apology or forgiveness, but they walked arm-in-arm towards their future, together.


End file.
